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Iseul

When Ijun dies, she dies with a weary sigh. Her eyes flutter closed, and for the first time since she was attacked with Imugi venom, her face relaxes from pain, slack and still.

“No,” Seojin breathes, and Iseul watches numbly as he tries everything, every trick in the book, but it’s no use.

Ijun is dead.

Iseul stares at the woman’s still face with an uncomfortable feeling in her chest. Jae , she finds herself thinking. Where is the boy?

A howl of grief answers her question. Spotting his mother, Jae comes running down the row of cots, tears spilling from his eyes. “Eomma!” he shouts. “Eomma! Eomma, no !”

“Jae,” Seojin rasps, turning to the boy, face ashen. “I’m so sorry—”

Jae sobs and launches himself toward Iseul. Expecting his tiny fists to beat her, Iseul stiffens, but instead, the boy does something worse.

So much worse.

Crying, Jae wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her stomach, barely able to breathe through his pain as he seeks comfort.

For a moment, Iseul stands as stiffly as a stone statue, motionless save for her heart, which is ramming against her chest like the birds used to slam into the glass windows of the Dove Coop. Her skin prickles, and she does not know what to do with her hands as Jae sobs, holding her close.

Swallowing hard, she meets Seojin’s eyes. They soften, as if he knows exactly what she is feeling. Hold him , he mouths. Hold him, Iseul.

Hold him, like she wished to be held after the hunters killed her parents. Hold him, and give him the only comfort she can offer: the warmth of her arms, the knowledge that he isn’t alone. Iseul’s throat feels strangely swollen as she kneels down, wrapping her free arm around the boy’s small frame and holding him close. The child shudders, burrowing his face into the crook of her neck. His tears are hot against her skin.

“Shh,” Iseul says, blinking rapidly as she scoops Jae up with one arm, propping him on her hip. He is so very, very small for a five-year-old. The short chain between her and Seojin rattles as he steps closer, and from behind her, cups Jae’s cheek. The child begins hiccupping violently.

“He needs a calming tonic, or he’ll pass out,” Seojin says, low in Iseul’s ears. “Come this way.” Iseul allows herself to be gently guided over to one of the medical cabinets, where Seojin pours a bit of Soothing Sleep into a cup. But when he offers it to Jae, the boy turns his face away, crying into Iseul’s shoulder.

“Jae,” Iseul murmurs. “Just a little sip, darling. Please,” she half begs, concerned by the shallowness of the child’s breathing. If he continues crying like this, he might faint. It happened to her, when she was young.

Seojin tries again, and this time, Jae lets the liquid trickle past his lips. Slowly, his breathing steadies, and his eyes close shut. Iseul holds him tightly, and she only becomes aware that she, too, is crying when she tastes salt on her lips.

She glances back to where a few Dokkaebi are covering Ijun’s body with sheets. Some horrible emotion blooms in her chest, and she knows it’s guilt.

Drat , Iseul thinks tiredly.

“Iseul,” Seojin says quietly. “We should find a bed for Jae. I received word this morning that…” He shakes his head, and Iseul knows in that moment precisely what has become of Jae’s father. One of the many casualties at the Battle of Sanyeongto.

Suddenly, with this tiny child held close to her, with Ijun’s body being wheeled out of the sickbay, Iseul hates this war. Oh, she despises the guilt she feels, the regret—but it is inescapable now. She has seen the ruin of this conflict, of Shin Lina. There is an orphaned boy in her arms and she cannot ignore that. She just…cannot.

Something rises up inside of her, something that has been growing and growing ever since Ijun spoke of the 43rd Division. Since Seojin kissed her like he knew who she was, beneath the anger, the rage. It is something that twists her insides. Something that has her glancing down to the handcuff attaching her to Seojin and feeling absurdly grateful that it is there. Otherwise, she never would have seen. And perhaps she would have been better off for it, but here, now… Iseul swallows hard.

Children, orphaned. Just as she was. Babies , understanding the violence of war more than they ever should. Running when their parents tell them to, hating themselves for the rest of their lives because they obeyed. What is this, if not another massacre?

The Jeon Dynasty. Oh, Iseul still wants to rip their hearts out, wants to behead them with her giant ax, which she misses very much. But is it worth it, if the other two kingdoms burn? If the world falls apart, just for her? If children like Jae lose their entire worlds, are sent adrift into the unknown? Just as she was?

That suffering… She would not wish it upon anyone.

“Iseul?” Seojin asks gently.

She shakes her head and valiantly tries to collect herself. She fails.

Her world as she knows it—as she’s shaped it to be, carved with hatred and fury—crumbles around her. These people didn’t kill the Gumiho. Ijun was in the 43rd Division, a rebel force she’d never even known about. But what if she had? Would she still have joined Lina’s war? She has never let herself consider it before, but she does now, as Jae sleepily exhales into the crook of her neck.

No. She wouldn’t have. She would have taken this fury directly to Bonseyo’s Jeons, leaving the other two kingdoms well alone. Leaving the rest of humanity well alone.

And that is the horrible truth she must face.

“Seojin,” Iseul whispers. “I’m lost.”

It’s a testament to their years and years of friendship that Seojin seems to know precisely what Iseul is saying. He blinks once, twice, and his voice is so heartbreakingly gentle as he replies.

“No, Iseul. I think you’ve just been found.”